


Mad Dogs and Englishmen

by vtn



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Late of the Pier
Genre: M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-05
Updated: 2008-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has his fantasies fulfilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad Dogs and Englishmen

When Sam Eastgate finds out that Erol Alkan has been routinely taking Sam Potter up the arse, he decides this is truly unexpected and a little unsettling in numerous ways.  
  
First off and most importantly, it kind of makes him feel like some sort of sellout. He's all squidgy inside, knowing that it's possible Erol is only providing them with magical studio wizardry for the incentive of hearing Sam Potter's squeals in the wee hours of the morning. Potter's squealing, Sam decides, is hypothetically rather worth the effort of, say, pretending Late of the Pier is your new most favouritest band ever and that you deeply desire to produce their album.  
  
Secondly, he thinks privately that it's a bit below both of them. Just because Potter likes to shake his arse and lick his lips whilst onstage, it doesn't mean he's some kind of a raging manslut. And Erol—Erol's  _old_ , like—you don't go around bumming lanky young rock musicians when you're over thirty, even if you have got the advantage of being a swarthy and dashing famous international DJ and worldwide subject of near-religious devotion.  
  
The thing that Sam finds most unexpected, and which settles him the least, though, is that he's really kind of enjoying this.  
  
Yes, he's even listening in, which is such a dodgy thing to do, listen while one of your best mates is getting fucked in the arse by your studio wizard type person, but he's listening in, ear pressed against the wall and body breaking out in a cold sweat. He bites his lip and shoves his hands down his jeans, rubs furiously at his erection while he listens to the two of  _them_  making obscene noises in the next room over.  
  
From the sound of it, he comes before either of them ever do, which he decides is a bit pathetic. It shouldn’t be getting to him like this way, making him swear and shake just picturing it in his head. He really should take a sane approach to this, maybe pull Potter aside and tell him it's kind of manslut-esque to let your mentor figure stick his cock in your—oooh, Erol cock. No, Sam, he tells himself. This is not the time to start having strange reverse-pederastic fantasies about Erol yourself.  
  
Yes, he supposes he can keep it just to Potter. Potter and he have gone at it before, after all. They both needed a few drinks in them first, but then he was lying naked except for a sweatband, Potter leaning over him, breathing into his mouth, pushing wet fingers into him. It was nice. Sam thinks it would probably be nice to do again. He thinks it would probably be nice to be in Erol's place. That's it.   
  
\---  
  
It confuses things when he starts thinking about Erol in that way too. Which he definitely wasn't before. No. He's acting like a teenager, really; he shouldn't have to catch his breath whenever Erol stretches and his shirt slides up. He shouldn't be thinking about what it would feel like to have Erol's stubble against his face. Or his thighs.  
  
"Have you ever dated a girl with a moustache?" he asks Ross, who is sitting on the keyboard stool looking like he has nothing better to do than play with a necklace he's wearing.   
  
"A moustache? Do you mean like a small fuzzy covering of the lip, or a proper big hairy one? Because I've been with one girl who had a small fuzzy thing but not the whole Chewbacca deal." Ross looks unfazed by the oddness of this question, which is a sign he's not onto Sam.  
  
"Yeah, either way," says Sam, "I was just wondering what it's like to kiss a girl with a moustache, is all." He prepares himself. It will add a new dimension to the fantasies he's  _definitely not having_.  
  
"Well," says Ross, looking like he's considering this deeply. "It's sort of like kissing anyone else, except that every once in a while…" He rubs his upper lip. "Every once in a while it tickles a bit."  
  
"Ah, all right," says Sam, a bit disappointed.  
  
"Now," says Ross, "If you were to kiss someone with a full moustache and beard, not saying that you would, but just saying that you might find some occasion to, maybe it would be a bit more scratchy, like when a wire-haired terrier is licking your face, except probably the person wouldn't smell so much like a dog—unless, of course, it actually was a dog."  
  
"What do you think I've been doing with dogs, Ross?"  
  
"Nothing, I'm just offering all the possibilities."  
  
"Dogs.  _Jesus_ , Ross." He rolls his eyes and pretends to be very distracted. He's actually thinking about the fur of wire-haired terriers and what it would feel like against your mouth. But he wouldn't actually kiss a dog. He's not a pervert! Christ.  
  
\---  
  
Potter is acting extremely cocky. He exudes the essence of 'getting laid when you are not'. He swanks around like a swanky thing and complains constantly of how tired he is. Sam is so deeply displeased that he blocks Potter's attempt at getting out of the doorway to the studio once everyone else is gone and stares him down. (He hopes he looks very intimidating.)  
  
"What is the deal with you, Eastgate?" says Potter, frowning. "Are you longing for what you lack?"  
  
"Yeah, if what I lack is the feeling of punching you in your egotistical face," says Sam curtly.   
  
"What've I done to offend you?" Potter whines. "Aren't I your favorite person called Sam Potter in the world?"  
  
"Of course you are, but just because you've been having sex doesn't mean you should flaunt it to everyone."  
  
"I'm not flaunting anything," says Potter petulantly. "In fact, how do you even know I'm having sex? For all you know I might just be happy because I'm on my way to the store for ice cream, and I like ice cream."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Sam immediately gets an image that makes him all hot and nervous. "Do you like licking it off of Erol Alkan's chest then?"  
  
"What?" says Potter.  
  
"You heard me."  
  
"Think about how sticky that would be, and difficult to clean up. Not to mention, people would be suddenly incensed to sniff him, which would be inconvenient."  
  
"You're not going to defend yourself?"  
  
"Why would I defend myself?" Potter throws up a hand. "I'm not going to go, aha, Sherlock Holmes, you've figured me out, especially not when I was having such a lovely time listening to you listen to us. It makes things more exciting."  
  
Sam is trying to parse all of this.  
  
"You were listening to me listening to you all along?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"So in other words, when I was listening to you, what I was actually listening to was you listening to me listening to you? And in that case you were listening to me listening to you listening to me listening to you?" This is, of course, an attempt at stalling for time rather than face the uncomfortable realities with which Sam has been presented. One of them is that he's hard. Another is that Potter's hand is on his leg. Another is that Potter's hand is moving closer to his groin. "Potter, not…fucking…here—"  
  
"Shut up," says Potter. He corners Sam against the wall, moving his hips against Sam's the same sort of obscene way he does on stage when Sam is pretending not to be imagining this exact situation. "Erol's actually said he wouldn’t mind watching you and me together. Would you be up for that?"  
  
"This is twisted," says Sam.   
  
"I like twisted," says Potter. "Don't you?"  
  
"I like this," Sam mumbles. Potter kisses him. Then he pulls back.   
  
"Sorry," says Potter.  
  
"Sorry?" Didn't Sam just say he liked it?  
  
"Yeah, I have to go." Oh.  
  
"Will you come back?" Sam says, realizing full well how pathetic he sounds. Oh well, now that he's started on this pathetic chain, he may as well go on. "Will you bring Erol?"  
  
"I'll meet you at the house at six," says Potter, grinning. "And, sure."  
  
\---  
  
This should be simple. He's just waiting. But he finds himself being remarkably impatient. He tries to read a magazine, play video games, listen to his iPod, but nothing keeps him occupied for longer than five or ten minutes at a time.   
  
Ross and Faley are in the kitchen, fighting over a bag of crisps, when Sam goes down there to get something to snack on.   
  
"If it isn't the prodigal son," says Faley. "You've been holing yourself up in your room for hours, what's that about?"  
  
"Erol's coming round in half an hour, so I didn't want to start anything that might get interrupted," he explains. It's absolutely true, he just didn't mention the specific purpose of Erol's visit.  
  
"Oh,  _Erol's_  coming round," says Faley. He turns around swiftly to give Ross the evil eye for having snatched the bag. Ross is popping crisps into his mouth and crunching obnoxiously loudly. "Wait, what's he coming round for?" Oh, damn damnity damn on a damn stick.   
  
"Nothing much," says Sam. He watches Ross eat. "I'm hungry."  
  
"Oh," says Ross, still clutching the crisp bag tightly so that Faley can't have any of it, "Did you ever find any dogs to snog?"  
  
"I'm not snogging dogs!" says Sam, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It's then that he hears a car pulling up to the house, and his annoyance fades.  
  
  
\---  
  
Sam doesn't even remember the bullshit excuses he gave Ross and Faley for leaving. That's unimportant now. Currently of importance is Potter's breath on his neck, Potter's hand on his leg moving toward his groin, Erol's dark smile as he watches. Sam is already short of breath and every noise is deafening. Potter is running his tongue slowly down the side of Sam's neck, making him shiver and his hairs stand up. He gets his hand between Sam's legs and rubs at his crotch through his jeans until Sam is hard and whining about being so confined; he never noticed how tight his jeans were before, Potter, that  _asshole_.  
  
"Be nice," Erol says with a laugh, like he's talking to small children. There's something to that Sam likes—the idea of Erol being condescending to him. He kind of wants Erol to berate him.   
  
"All right, all right," says Potter as he starts unbuttoning Sam's jeans. Potter gets his hand in and runs it over Sam's erection, and Sam feels Potter getting hard himself, pressing his dick against Sam's arse. Sam likes the thought that he's causing this reaction, and he bites his lip.  
  
"Come on, talk to me," says Erol. He walks over and puts his hand on Sam's cheek. Sam squirms against Potter's hips. Erol caresses the side of Sam's face, touches his finger to Sam's lips and then curls a lock of Sam's hair around it. All the while he's moving closer, trapping Sam between himself and Potter so he can't move. "You have such a lovely voice, Sam," Erol says, almost singsong. "I like to listen to you, you know."  
  
Sam gets this image of Erol touching himself while sitting alone in the studio mixing Sam's voice. If that's not perverse, nothing is. His hand is going numb pressed between Erol and Potter, and he moves it up to Erol's stomach, feels the rough black hair around Erol's navel, moves his hand up further to Erol's chest.   
  
"Tell me," says Erol, "Why did you always listen?"  
  
"I like to listen," Sam says softly, not even fully conscious of what he's saying. Erol has an erection. Sam can feel it against his leg. His cock is thick and long and Sam thinks it would hurt if Erol fucked him. He thinks that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. Potter is moving his hips again in that infectious way he does, wrapping his hands around Sam's waist and leaving his erection ignored, flicking his tongue against the back of Sam's neck. "It's nice," he says dreamily.  
  
"What were your favorite bits?" Erol slides his hand down to Sam's neck, rubbing two fingers behind Sam's ear.   
  
"Bloody hell, I can't concentrate!" Sam finally explodes, wrenching himself out of Potter's grasp and slipping out from between the two of them, panting.  
  
Potter looks at Erol and grins. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Erol?"  
  
"Don't know," Erol says whimsically. He grabs Potter and nearly bends him over backwards, giving him the most obscene kiss Sam has ever seen, his hands roaming all over Potter's back and Potter's hands working down Erol's fly.   
  
"Oh my God," says Sam. He pushes down his jeans and then licks his hand before he starts moving it over his own cock. He can't watch something like this without attending to himself.   
  
Erol presses Potter down onto the bed and leaves him there, his erection pointing up at the ceiling.  
  
"Go on, Sam," Erol says, and Sam looks over with uncertainty. "You know what I want you to do, just—do it the way I want," which is something he says in the studio when he has trouble enunciating the exact thing he wants from Sam. What Sam is realizing is that Erol is a very precise person, and he knows exactly how to get Sam worked up into a mess.  
  
Potter looks up from the bed and winks, and Sam gets down on his knees and puts his mouth over Potter's cock. Potter jerks his hips into Sam's mouth until Sam's throat is sore and he whines against Potter's erection. Then Erol's behind him, stroking his hair and rubbing his forehead and murmuring that he's doing a good job.   
  
"Oh he is," says Potter, offhandedly, as he comes into Sam's mouth.   
  
Sam coughs, is nearly sick on the floor, and that's Erol's cue to kiss him and pull him close. On the facial hair front, it's a bit scratchy, but mostly it just reminds Sam of Erol's masculinity, something Sam doesn't really experience a lot of with any of the birds he's been with or really that much with Potter either. Potter lays down on one of the bed's pillows and Erol gets Sam down onto the other, lowers his mouth to Sam's bare legs and kisses his hips, his thighs, licks across the triangle of Sam's pelvic bones. Now his beard is drawing thick red lines across Sam's skin. Erol runs his tongue up the length of Sam's cock once and then sighs, breathing hot over Sam's groin.   
  
"Fuck me," Sam hears himself beg. "Come on, you bastard."  
  
"Don't call me a bastard," says Erol, a smile in his voice, as he turns Sam over on the bed. He pauses, and Sam (his face buried in the pillow) realizes it's to wet his fingers as he starts spreading Sam's asshole. "Don't you even dare." Then the tip of his cock is pushing into Sam. Sam makes noises and claws at the pillow—ironic, now  _he's_  the one squealing, not Potter—and it does hurt, he can feel himself stretching as Erol moves deeper into him. This is far from the idea of Erol coming round to watch Sam and Potter together, and, ultimately, Sam thinks, though it means he must be going crazy—more satisfying.  
  
Erol is thrusting his hips now. Sam spreads his palms and presses them against the headboard. Every push of Erol's hips sends his sweaty hands sliding further up the wood. He finally collapses against the headboard, his hands having slid too far—Potter laughs—and then it's just Erol's hands on his hips that keep the rhythm going. Erol always holds the strings.  
  
Sam is about to come, and Erol, who's always had that intuition of his, wraps his hand around Sam's cock and works out his orgasm. Sam exhales, and then he lets Erol fuck his limp body until he's finished, and he comes on Sam's back.   
  
"Now you can see," says Potter, twirling a curl of his hair between his fingers, "You can only get so much of the experience by just watching. You always ought to participate."  
  
"I didn't—you're so fucking smug all the time, Potter," Sam says, doing his best to sound angry even though inside he feels more or less filled with glee.  
  
"You watch that," says Erol. "I don't appreciate it."  
  
"Who are you, my mum?" Potter says, suddenly breaking character, and all three of them laugh.  
  
\---  
  
Sam misses being furtive. It's a weird thing to say, but there's something kind of exciting about no one knowing you've been secretly lusting after your mate and your producer, two people normally you're not supposed to be non-secretly lusting after. However, Sam's secret is out, because unlike Potter, he is very bad at being smug and very good at mentioning offhandedly, while the four of them have cereal in the kitchen the next day for breakfast, that "you know, I found out about moustaches, it's real nice," and more or less ends up telling the whole story.   
  
Ross and Faley are more amused than anything else, and Potter doesn't say a word, just smiles that smile of his, and then gives Sam a slap on the ass and a kiss on the lips before he leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Late of the Pier, although it's an established phrase so.
> 
> Shout-out to a certain Y. M. who, combined with this fic, is the reason that somewhere on the wall of the club Heaven in London UK is written the words "oooh Erol cock".
> 
> :D:D:D:'D


End file.
